


A lecture in dwarven sweet-talk.

by Mo6918



Series: What you find on the road [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cheese, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Thorin is a Softie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, so cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22862008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mo6918/pseuds/Mo6918
Summary: There had been a certain tension between them ever since they first laid eyes upon one another. Bilbo did not expect Thorin to ever express any interest verbally, though. Much less so softly.A rather cheesy encounter under starlight, in which unspoken things are finally brought to light.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: What you find on the road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637008
Comments: 8
Kudos: 202





	A lecture in dwarven sweet-talk.

It was in the lush green gardens of Beorn, that Bilbo had found himself forced to acknowledge fully and unequivocally, how soft even the gruffiest of dwarrow could be. When he had found that there was a warm and gentle ember yet to be explored behind the sharp fires of the royal stares, sometimes deep with longing, sometimes scathing with worry, well concealed in disapproval.

It had started, as might be expected of dwarves who had made themselves at home at some unwilling host’s hearth. Beorn had just started to unwillingly warm up to the company, their goals and their antics, to no small part, Bilbo privately praised himself, to his own undwarvishness and his mediating nature. And just as his repellent behavior shifted, the dwarrow began to become more bold again, asking for mead and claiming that where there’s honey, there must be mead, as nobody could live on milk and honey alone.

Beorn had been reluctant to even acknowledge the existence on mead in his halls, but by the second half of dinner, there was a large tankard of sweet, warming liquid set in front of each of them and the dwarrow were getting merrier and louder by the sip.

Bilbo didn’t mind the festive ruckus, knowing well enough, that between being almost killed by goblins, being chased by orcs and the prospect of having to venture into a cursed forest, a little light amusement would do them good and lift their spirits. Had their accommodations been different, maybe Bilbo would have been more inclined to join song and dancing, but as it were, the soft breeze of the gardens wafting in from all sides of the hall, bringing the smell of flowers and clear skies with it, the Hobbit found himself more interested in leaving the table sooner than necessary, but not without stuffing a few pieces of honeybread in his pockets, making sure he was equipped, should the mead induce any late night snacking.

He wandered outside and a smile crossed his lips when the singing of dwarves was suddenly subdued by the sound of rustling leaves and whispering trees. He hadn’t felt this peaceful since the day on the hill the eagles had set them down. When Thorin had admitted his mistake of underestimating him. When he had pulled him into an embrace so tight and warm, that it had taken Bilbo’s breath away.

The feeling of soft relief was quite the same now, as he felt transported back to his own garden. The longing for the well kempt lawn, the colorful flower beds and the neatly trimmed hedge was not satisfied entirely, by the wild and yet peaceful gardens of Beorn, but it was enough to soothe the constant ache in his chest. The constant homesickness, that felt subdued to a mere glimmer, as he sat down on a pile of hay, resting his head against the thick trunk of an oak tree, lighting his pipe and closing his eyes for a moment. He was intent on breathing in and imagining an evening on his front porch, feeling the grass under his feet and the breeze on his face… But without asking for permission, the image, no the memory of something else entered his mind again. Soft furs on his face, allowing him to burrow his glowing cheeks, as big hands grabbed him firmly and yet gently.

There was a rustle beside him and Bilbo looked up, feeling almost drowsy, as if woken from an actual dream and not a daydream, that he had harbored from the day, the last dwarf had stepped into his smial. A daydream that had become filled with real memory, ever since Thorin’s gruff defenses had broken on the eagle hill.

“Thorin”, he said quietly, not necessarily surprised by seeing the exiled king next to him.

“Mind if I join you, Master burglar?”

“On the contrary. You’re quite welcome to.” Bilbo smiled at his own words. He had yet to find the courage to speak his mind about the king. He knew there had been a certain tension between them from the start and his longing to explore the possibilities of that tension seemed to be reflected in the dwarf’s recent eagerness to join him, preferably when nobody was looking.

Thorin settled down next to him and he too took out his pipe, stuffed and lit it, before his blue eyes wandered over their surroundings. He seemed to be looking for something. Maybe for the reason Bilbo had to come here and do nothing but absorb the green around him and the starlight above.

“It reminds me of home, you see”, Bilbo supplied. “The trees are a lot thicker and bigger than in the shire, of course. And Mister Gamgee would never allow my lawn to grow this wild and unattended, but it does have its charm. “Over there, the flowers beyond the pond. I’ve rarely seen so much variety so wildly packed into such a small bed. Beorn says it’s one of his bees favourite spots. I can understand. I love my carefully arranged flower beds, but if I was a bee, I’d want to grow fat on a wild buffet of colours like this.”

He looked up, as no form of reply came from the older dwarrow, not even a chuckle, revealing how small his mind must seem to a dwarf on a quest to reclaim a homeland, slay a dragon, reunite a kingdom… But Thorin was just looking at him, his expression not betraying his thought, though quite peaceful.

“Are you even listening?”, Bilbo asked, amused and pointed an accusing pipe at the royal dwarf next to him. “Or is your mind wandering to hidden treasure again?”

Thorin’s lips curled into a soft smirk and he inclined his head for a moment. “In a way, yes”, he admitted, “But it has not wandered anywhere my eyes have not”, he added as he looked up, his bright eyes catching the starlight and twinkling with honesty, maybe a hint of amusement over the sharp inhale the words caused after a moment of confused hesitation.

Bilbo felt his lips open and close more than once. Then he shut his mouth firmly and wiggled his nose.

“Huh”, he said, rather stupidly and quickly stuffed his pipe back in his mouth, mainly to keep himself from rambling. A small chuckle escaped Thorin and Bilbo felt a twinge of annoyance. So this big, bullheaded oaf was entitled to first, making him feel unwelcome and unworthy and then, merely days later, more flustered and warm then ever? He’d be furious with him, if it hadn’t been for all the fuzzy happiness that boiled in his chest, rumbling like a volcano that sent its warmth right up into his cheeks.

“You could at least do me the honor of looking me in the eyes, while I’m ready to wax poetry about you, Master Hobbit.”

Bilbo’s breath caught and he coughed slightly, little clouds of smoke popping out of his mouth and nose. He tried his best to look displeased when he turned to face Thorin, who was enjoying this little conversation far too much already.

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that a stoic king does anything like waxing poetry. Didn’t take you for the soft kind.” It was a mild jab at Thorin’s pride, but rather than an actual attempt on teasing, Bilbo was testing the waters. Was the dwarrow really ready to drop his gruffy demeanor in front of him? If anything could make him recoil into the safety of the cold dwarren leader, Bilbo expected a direct mentioning of his current show of softness would do the trick.

To his surprise as much as his delight, Thorin did not recoil. His brows just rose up a little as he contemplated Bilbo for a moment, then he said with a weird seriousness:

“You’ve been too caught up on elven word-weaving and delicate elegance for far too long. It seems you’ve been blinded to the beauty of other cultured by the fair folk.”

Something in Bilbo’s throat tightened and he turned a little in his seat of hay to face Thorin properly. The dwarf’s hair was like a thick black blanket covering his shoulders and framing his features like the nightsky. And how could he not admit to the beauty of the silver streaks, weaving through the soft dark waves like moonlight on the surface of a calm pond.

“I have seen beauty in the dwarvish from the moment you stepped over the threshold of my smial, Thorin Oakenshield”, Bilbo said earnestly and more than anything hoping that Thorin would understand how very honest those words were. If his smile was any indication, he did.

“Are you trying to turn this into a contest of soft words?”, the dwarrow teased softly and put his emptied pipe away. “I’m afraid that is a challenge I am bound to lose.”

“I agree, although with much less confidence than I would have until now.”

“There’s no reason to feel your confidence waver. You’re more well read and more careful in the words you choose, than I might ever be. In the face of such odds, you will excuse me, if I chose to deal with the unspoken in a manner more suited to my nature.”

Bilbo swallowed, his jaws working rather hard now. “A-and what manner would that be, if I may ask?” His voice was rather higher than usual now, and he felt all his eloquence and his propriety slip from his grasp, as Thorin leaned closer.

There was a moment of silence, as even the leaves that should be rustling around them seemed to hold still for a second, waiting for that moment of bliss, that seemed to take forever to arrive, even if Bilbo was well aware that it could not have been more than a second, if that, before Thorin’s lips met his.

The dwarrow’s hand was big and warm on his cheek, calloused as you would expect from a warrior and smithy, any yet Bilbo would have sworn on every doily in his smial that those fingers were the softest and most gentle thing that ever touched him. He inclined his head into the palm that caressed him and all but launched into the kiss that was warm and cozy and as agreeable as cheese on a cracker and a plush chair to fall into with a good book.

Bilbo wanted to enjoy more of it, all of it, and he didn’t wait to see how long Thorin was willing to move his lips gently against his. He pressed closer, honeybread tumbling from his pockets as he twisted. Sensing his intend, another big hand came to help him climb the king’s lap on which he perched triumphantly, not having taken his lips off of Thorin’s for more than a split second, barely enough to breathe.

He lifted both hands and brought them up to the dwarf’s cheeks, touching the beard that tickled him in their kisses. It was so much softer than he had expected. And so was the skin above it, that he traced gently with closed eyes, before his fingers made their way to the dark mane of hair, plunging into the soft waves and holding on their, gently tugging whenever Thorin made even the slightest attempt at pulling back.

It wasn’t until his lips felt swollen, his chin almost bruised, that Bilbo allowed the kisses to end, leaning his forehead against Thorin’s with a deep sigh.

“That was much needed”, he whispered with a smile. Thorin’s hand was slowly moving up and down his back. Up and down and not a hint of tiredness in sight, like he could spend eternity caressing the smaller body on top of him.

“I underestimated not only your bravery and capability in battle. It seems I have just been lectured again, this time on the eagerness of Hobbits in other fields…” The king without mountain chuckled and Bilbo grinned sheepishly.

“I can’t wait to explore this new information to its full extend”, Thorin continued and Bilbo wondered in the safety of the back of his head, just how much uproar there would be, if morning found a dwarren royal naked in a stack of hay with a hobbit curled up on top of him...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I was surprised and honored by the positive reaction to my other fluffy ficlets and I'm very happy if others enjoy a healthy dose of Thorin/Bilbo Fluff as much as I do.


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